


The Truth, and Nothing But

by Westbrook



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Catharsis, Discussion of Rape, Gen, Plots, Politics, Post-Cryoburn, Secrets Always Come to Light, Use of Gratuitous Ellipses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:30:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Westbrook/pseuds/Westbrook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Did you know about General Order 12387?"</i><br/><i>"What really happened at Escobar?" </i><br/>Miles seeks answers to questions that should stay buried, and gets more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth, and Nothing But

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [General Order 12387](https://archiveofourown.org/works/242796) by [GovCampbell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GovCampbell/pseuds/GovCampbell). 



> Miles Naismith Vorkosigan, Cordelia Naismith, and all other associated characters and locations are the property of Lois McMaster Bujold, who is a much better writer than I ever shall be! Please do not set the lawyers on me!

It took a month for Miles to ask the question. He had other tasks, of course-Raising four rambunctious children and a stepson, attempting to be the best husband to Ekaterin, dealing with the rest of his father's files and ImpSec and Duv, and accustoming himself to more of the District's matters now that he was Count. But a month seemed vital, for Miles to gather the evidence-What little of it there was, which in itself was evidence-to ask around as quietly as possible, to piece together speculation and fact and intuition into something of a coherent whole. And, he admitted to himself as he walked through Vorkosigan House, to gather up his nerve. "Some things are better left unsaid," was a famous old Earth quote. Was this one of them?

No. Miles shook his head. Gregor might not need to know about the General Order-or whatever came next-but Miles....probably didn't need to know either, if he was being honest. A particularly Betan phrase, one he had used himself as Admiral Naismith, came to mind "If they're old enough to ask, they're old enough to know." Miles was confident enough, or at least curious enough, to ask. 

He paused in front of the door. And there was only one person he could possibly ask. Miles slowly raised his hand, and knocked twice.  
It took a moment, but the door opened to reveal Cordelia Naismith Vorkosigan, dressed in a Vor matron's skirts and bolero, with her hair pulled into a sensibly Betan tail, Dowager Countess and, perhaps most importantly for this discussion, former Betan Astronomical Survey Captain. "Hey there kiddo," his mother said, a smile briefly lighting up her face as she pulled him into a hug.

His mother had become rather physically affectionate of late, hugging Miles and her grandchildren whenever she saw them. Mark too had received a large amount of touch whenever he was home, and Ekaterin had reported that the Countess (Dowager Countess in truth, but Ekaterin hadn't yet become accustomed to her new title of Countess Vorkosigan, though she was was probably doing better than Miles was with his new title) had been touch-constant when they had tea recently. Miles thought it was probably a grief reaction, but as he was dealing with his own problems, he saw no reason to begrudge his mother in whatever distraction or relief or assurance she found. 

He followed his mother into his parents-his mother's-salon. It felt...wrong, that they should be here without his father, that this room itself should be without Aral Vorkosigan. Walking in it like trying to wear a suit that was only half-fitted. Some small mementos of his father remained-A favorite book of his lying on the table, a piece of artwork he had admired propped up against the table, an old uniform jacket over the back of a chair, but ultimately the room was empty of the presence, the sense of the man who had been so much to so many people, Miles' inspiration and teacher and compass point, and last but certainly not least the other half of the woman who stood before Miles. 

His mother smoothed out her skirts, before turning to look at Miles. "Would you like something to drink? Tea, water?" She looked closer at his expression for a moment, and pursed her lips. "Something stronger?'  
That phrase, delivered by that flat Betan accent in such a deadpan manner, startled a laugh out of Miles. "No thank you. Though...maybe later."  
"Ah," his mother said, smoothing out her skirts as she settled into the chair with the uniform jacket on the back, taking her familiar posture-Arms draped on the chair's arms, legs crossed at the ankle, shoulders straight back, eyes intently focused. "What's on your mind, son?"  
Oh, and that phrase, his father's phrase, falling so effortlessly from his mother's mouth....Miles swallowed slightly. Grief threatened to send words through his mouth unplanned, but he strangled them. This was neither the time nor the place. 

Miles slid into a chair across from his mother, conveniently cut to size for him, hooking his cane on the back as he did so, and leaned back for a moment. His mother, perfectly willing to wait, studied him. Finally, Miles said, "I've been looking through father's files, and there's some very interesting things in there." The lines about his mother's eyes and mouth tightened slightly, the only reaction, before she replied mildly, "I thought that there might be." "Some of them....Well, I actually want to ask you questions about those, as I think your input might be useful. From a historical viewpoint, Duv might want to as well. But later," Miles stated with a wave of his hand, dismissing the issue. Cordelia's lips twitched up slightly. "I do enjoy Duv in his Professor mode. He asks the most fascinating questions, and since's he's security-cleared, it makes some discussions so much easier."

Miles nodded, and there was another moment of silence. Finally (No help for it, plunge in, forward momentum), Miles drew in a breath and said, "Did you know about General Order 12387? The one that stated if Gregor or any future Emperor went insane, Da had orders to kill them?" he added, just so there could be absolutely no ambiguity.  
His mother's hands tightened on the arms of her chair, and her breath blew out of her in a huff. Miles noted, in the back part of his brain, that even as her body had gained some tension, some had been lost as well. What was that about? Worry about the next question that snapped and prowled at the edges of this conversation, perhaps?

"Yes, I knew about that one. Aral...He showed it to me when he got home that day, it was one of the last meetings, if not _the_ last meeting he had with Ezar. He was....nearly incoherent. Rage and sadness were all mixed up in him. It took him about two hours to calm down enough to talk," Cordelia said frankly. 

Miles swallowed again. This was the hard part. "And....if it had become necessary for it to be implemented? Would father have done it?" _Would you have let him?_ was the unspoken question that followed along with it.  
Cordelia blew out a breath, and there was a long pause before she finally spoke, with great care. "To be honest Miles....I don't know. If I remember correctly, there was a diagnostic sheet, a list of questions as to what the Emperor's (Miles noted the careful emphasis his mother placed on the office, rather than the person inhabiting it) mindset was, before any action could be taken. I think that, if it had come to that, God forbid, I would have tried to get Gregor the help he needed, to see if he could be saved." Cordelia shrugged here. "I'm still Betan enough to think that therapy and rehabilitation could have worked." "But...if it hadn't?" Miles asked hesitantly. His mother shot him an inscrutable look, and Miles quelled for a moment. "If it couldn't work...." she paused for a moment, before speaking, words falling from her lips like heavy stones. "Then yes, I would have supported the Order, and your father-or whoever the hell else we would have gotten for the camp stool." 

Miles sat back, stunned. To think that, if it had turned out differently...If Gregor had turned out like Mad Yuri, or God forbid, his father, if he had shown any of the traits exhibited by some past Emperors....Aral Vorkosigan might have had to seize power, Miles might be a Prince and Barrayar would still be dealing with the fallout. A phrase of his mother's caught him. "Wait a minute-Whoever else? Who was there but father?"  
Cordelia glanced at him, drawn out from her own study. "As you've known, there were basically close to half a dozen different lines of succession to the throne aside from Gregor's. Due to his personal circumstances and his genes, your father's was the most legitimate, especially with Ezar's endorsement. But Miles, at the time that this was being discussed, both Captain Negri and Princess Kareen were still alive, and their views especially would have counted in the matter. I shudder to think what Kareen would have done if it had become necessary for that Order to be carried out."  
"I shudder to think what Negri would have done," Miles replied, and Cordelia opened her hand, accepting the point. "That, I think, is what had your father worried the most. Negri was unquestionably, unceasingly loyal to Ezar, and he certainly knew about 12387, probably had several dozen contigencies in place if had to be carried out. If Aral hadn't followed through with what Negri perceived to be Ezar's orders...." His mother shook her head. "It might have come down to a confrontation between Aral and Negri as Regent and Chief of Imperial Security, and no matter who won, that's a battle that would have ended badly for Barrayar." Miles, considering what he knew of the sinister legend of Illyan's predecessor at ImpSec, shuddered, then tracked back. "But if Da wouldn't have taken it, who would have ended up as Emperor?" His mother gave a slight, hesitant shrug. "Your father would have been in the perfect position to play kingmaker-or Emperormaker as it was-if he hadn't been forced to accept it himself, that is. I think that if it came to a choice, he would have used his influence to put his cousin Padma forth as the best candidate, assuming he hadn't been killed."

Miles was stunned. If Padma had been put on the throne..."All hail Emperor Ivan?" Miles muttered weakly, and his mother, overhearing this, made a sound that was half-groan and giggle. "I shudder to think," she said, smiling slightly and shaking her head, before suddenly looking thoughtful. "Well, perhaps not. If Padma had lived, if Ivan grew up knowing he was to be Emperor-Who knows? He could have been a good one. He's certainly surprised and impressed me over the past few years, your father as well," she stated reflectively. Miles could only nod in agreement, but then smiled slightly as a thought struck him, and he guffawed softly. His mother arched a brow at him. "I was just thinking," he said in a laughing tone, "about the possibility of Empress Alys." His mother smiled broadly at this. "She would have been even more of a force to be reckoned with." "We probably would have added at least one more planet by now, simply through Aunt Alys' manners," Miles joked. Cordelia nodded fondly. "I'm sorry that you never got to meet Padma, Miles. He was a good man. If he had lived...." The Countess shook her head, hair twisting behind her. "I think that if Padma and Rulf Vorhalas had lived, Aral would have them to lean on, real friends. It would have made his life easier, and it certainly would have changed Barrayar for the better." 

Miles suddenly sobered. Admiral Rulf Vorhalas, brother of Count Vorhalas, had died at Escobar, blasted into atoms by reflected plasma due to Betan mirror technology. The other half of his inquiry, the half he wasn't sure he wanted answered but needed to ask anyways, the possible secret that was still nova-hot half a century later, was presented.  
Miles glanced at his mother, who was staring at him in-Contemplation? Speculation? She was waiting for him, to make the next move, or not. Miles gathered up his nerve, and stated, "There was a vid attached to the order itself."  
His mother did not react. She merely nodded. "What was on it?"  
"Father. Captain Negri. Emperor Ezar. It was mainly Ezar giving the order, in his Own Voice, and the justifications for it." Miles glanced covertly at his mother. "Political cover?" A single nod. "I imagine so."  
Miles nodded as well. His mother hesitated for a moment, then asked gently, "What did you do with the file?"

Miles licked his lips. "I talked with Simon when I first read it, and asked him to confirm. He did, or as much as he was able, and then said that Negri's copy had probably been destroyed in the Pretendership and the aftermath. So I took the file to Ezar's memorial, along with a plasma arc. I lit it up as an offering to the old man. Seemed like the right thing to do." His mother chuckled. "And a certain amount of irony, when I consider it." "I didn't think that Gregor needed to know, or any of his descendants. Now that Gregor's married into a gene pool that has zero connections to his own, and we have gene cleaning besides, and therapy...." Miles shrugged shortly. "I can only hope that we'll never face a situation where that would be necessary again."  
His mother smiled. "As do I."

And suddenly, they were here, the question finished prowling at the edges and leaping, snarling and foaming mouthed, into the center.  
Miles swallowed. "When I was thinking about the disc, coming home from the memorial, a detail caught my attention. Ezar stated that we should be glad that we-Barrayar-had no Emperor Serg, and later that he would not give us another Serg. And then father, when he saw the Order, said 'Not again,'" and here Miles' voice faltered.  
His mother only nodded, mouth tight, eyes blank.  
Miles took a deep breath. "What really happened at Escobar?" his voice was quiet and solemn. 

Cordelia shuddered, her hands flexing on the ends of her chair, those wonderful gray eyes closing and her head bowing. Miles knew, with a sudden sickness, that whatever he had thought....  
It was true, or enough of it was to matter. 

Cordelia straightened, and there was her old Captain's confidence and command in the motion. "Miles," she said, oh so carefully and quietly, "are you sure you want to know this?"  
Miles' hands twitched, almost leaping to deny, but then stayed themselves. He swallowed, his chin jerked up in the habitual motion, and he turned dragging it down into a nod. "If you're old enough to ask...." he replied, and the Betan phrase, coming from his mouth in Barrayaran gutterals, managed to bring a half-choked laugh from Cordelia. "Yes," she whispered, nodding at the carpet. 

She sighed, and set her shoulders, looking up to stare straight at Miles.  
"What do you know?" Miles set his own shoulders. "Bits and pieces. Like I said, I talked with Simon, who knew nothing, but seemed tense about discussions of plots before Ezar died. A few questions, here and there, to people who were around when Escobar happened, a few people who were there. Most of the ones who were in power at the time are either dead or know better than to talk. The ones who were physically there either don't know the big picture, or they knew enough and are dead as well. The galactic news helped a lot, providing an outside perspective- _The Thin Blue Line_ , and some other sources." Cordelia scowled here. "I hated that movie." Miles only grinned slightly, though it probably came out more of a grimace. "I know. And then there was the Barrayaran evidence."  
The Countess' eyes swung immediately to Miles. "What evidence?" she said sharply, and was that a quaver to her voice?

Miles held up his hands in appeasement. "Not a lot. Most of it was destroyed, probably in the Pretendership, and the rest was either heavily classified or non-existent. The lack of evidence in itself proved to be evidence, but....it's an answer without a question. You have to know the question to get what the answer means."  
"Oh," his mother replied shortly. Miles made a go-on gesture, relating to his earlier question. His mother sighed, and her hand rose stroke the uniform jacket sleeve. Miles waited, patiently as he could.

Finally, his mother spoke, so softly Miles had to strain to hear.  
"I don't know that anything about that part of Escobar was ever officially written down. I don't think it could have been, for fear that it all might come out someday. All I had was your father's word on the matter, and Ezar's words themselves. But with what I saw, what I was told, it's probably the truth." Cordelia breathed deeply for a moment, Miles watching her. The room was silent, save for their breathing.

"You know about Crown Prince Serg's.....depravities is the right word here," his mother said decisively. Miles nodded. She continued, "Serg had companions that refracted those, made them stronger, represented back through a mirror. Ges Vorrutyer was the foremost among them, and a fellow companion in most of Serg's activities. Lavrent Grishnov, the Minister of Political Education, was Serg's chief ally among the Ministers, and his control of the state security was paramount at the time, he had Serg's ear and acted as his right arm. The two of them were just the top, there were others, but they had the most influence."  
Here, the Countess paused, and Miles waited. She drew in two deep breaths and blew them out, before continuing calmly, "What you don't know is that Prince Serg had two assassination attempts made on his father in the year and a half before he died."  
Miles felt like he'd been stomach-punched. That was treason on the highest of levels, to attempt to assassinate a sitting Emperor, and your own father to boot....The bile rose in his stomach, and he had to swallow rapidly. 

Cordelia continued, now as straightforward and unstoppable as a battlecruiser. "It was rumored that Grishnov had plans of his own to deal with Emperor, only checked by Negri and ImpSec. If Serg had come to power, Grishnov and Vorrutyer would have been Prime Minister and Minister of War, Serg likely would have been their puppet, the War Party would have been ascendent, and getting rid of them would have taken a civil war. So Emperor Ezar did the one thing he could."  
Miles could only stare, feeling the air press along his body. He wondered, hazily, if this was what the moment before explosive decompression felt like....  
"Captain Negri knew about Beta's plasma mirrors long before the invasion took place, and he and Ezar knew that there would be no way for them to be countered. The Emperor used the Escobaran invasion as an excuse to put Ges Vorrutyer and Crown Prince Serg on a battlefield. Your father was placed there to goad Serg into leading from the front, to ensure that he did not survive to return to Barrayar. After Admiral Vorrutyer died and Prince Serg was killed, Aral was perfectly in place to lead a victorious retreat, recovering as much material and as many men as possible."

Cordelia Naismith leaned forward, looking into Miles Vorkosigan's eyes, conveying her next message in a calm, controlled voice with no hint of emotion. "The entire Escobaran War was engineered by Emperor Ezar to assassinate his own son."

If she had pulled out an old-fashioned gun, and shot him in the heart, Miles did not think he could be more shocked or horrified. Miles felt as if he were back in freefall, spinning uncontrollably. He found himself breathing short, sharp staccato bursts, as if his lungs were unable to fill themselves. "Miles, are you all right?" he heard his mother's voice come from a great distance, and he was suddenly, strangely glad that he had used his seizure stimulator just a few days ago, otherwise he would be on the floor right now. 

Miles wrenched himself back, to find that his mother was kneeling in front of him, eyes filled with compassion and concern and a bit of fear, her hand on his knee. "Miles, love? Are you alright?" she asked, peering at him.  
Miles shook his head, and when his mother started to rise, shook it again, raising a remarkably steady hand to stop her. He wasn't in pain or need of medical attention, simply stunned.  
Now, with a concrete confirmation, his brain went into overdrive. 

It was just as he had suspected-Escobar had been a planned, deliberate failure, from the beginning. Why else had Vorrutyer and Serg, who had no overwhelming strategic or tactical mind, been placed in charge, when Aral Vorkosigan, inarguably one of the greatest military minds of the last generation Nexus-wide, been relegated to the back? Why Escobar, a large, distant, powerful system with plenty of allies and a strong military, had been chosen for a target instead of Pol, which was closer, or even Aslund, a backward, isolated world. It explained why the riots had come so quickly after Serg's death, with Grishnov being dragged into the streets and shot, the Ministry of Political Education being literally ripped apart brick by brick, many of the political officers disappearing into the night, either killed or simply vanishing. Several Counts had died or suddenly retired afterwards, and a number of ministers had resigned or been caught on some charge as well, even before Ezar's purge. Members of the War Party?  
And all of this, done on the order of a single old man....  
Suddenly, a phrase of his father's slammed into him. When he had been discussing reputation versus honor with his father, during Richars' insinuations a few years ago-How did it go?  
_"There is no more hollow feeling than to stand with your honor shattered at your feet while soaring public reputation wraps you in rewards."_

At the time, Miles hadn't known what that meant. But now, in light of his mother's statement, even in light of the vid Miles had seen, it was all so **clear**.  
Ezar Vorbarra had used Aral Vorkosigan to assassinate the Crown Prince, his own son. Aral's honor had been at a low point following the Solstice Massacre, but now, returning to Barrayar as the Hero of Escobar, the man who single-handedly had saved a fleet, his father would have been covered in glory, and a man now capable of smoothly stepping into any powerful position. 

Like, for instance, Regent?

Miles glanced up at his mother, who was standing now, watching her eldest son with an inscrutable expression. Miles thought he knew, but he had to ask-"I don't think he did, but I have to know. Did Father trade the Regency for Serg's death? Was that his reward?"  
His mother jerked, looking as if she had been stunned. "No, Miles, no. Not at all. Your father...." Here she hesitated. "Once, your father had thought he would go into politics. After Serg and Escobar, that desire was extinguished. He had intended to retire, until Ezar dragooned him into the Regency."  
Miles nodded, his thoughts swinging back to the cost. Prince Serg, dead, Vorrutyer dead, Grishnov next, the War Party disgraced, Aral given the honor and glory, and all at the low, low cost of thousands of Imperial bodies and galactic respect, not to mention the dead Betans and the Escobaran troops.

Bodies....  
Miles twitched as the next thought hit him. "My God," he breathed, eyes alight. "That's how he did it." The Countess, looking pale, still managed to arch an eyebrow. "Did what?" Miles' thoughts raced, lining it up, combining what he knew of Ezar and Negri, remembering a long-ago plot of a man with a Procurement mindset...  
"Ezar. He buried Serg among a pile of thousands of bodies, topped with the respect of the galactic community toward Barrayar, and lit it all as a funeral pyre for his son." Oh it worked, it worked exactly. 5000 Imperial troops, used as the final escort bring Serg Vorbarra to the gates of hell. Miles' mind marveled at the precision, the sheer cold-blooded engineering that went into the plot, even as his soul rebelled at it. 

His mother nodded, slowly. "Ezar didn't want the Vorbarra line to have another monster. He gave his son the only thing he could, an honorable death. It's the old tale of a needle hidden amongst a stack of needles." She hesitated for a moment, considered something, before stating, "Aral told me later that many of the soldiers, or the officers at least, were supporters or members of the War Party. Emperor Ezar wanted as many of them removed as possible, to exterminate the very philosophy. But there had to be a few good, honest troops in there, for _appearances_." She spat this last word as if it were offal.  
Men like Rulf Vorhalas. Miles nodded, then frowned as another thought occurred to him. "Ezar couldn't have just gotten rid of Serg." His mother looked at him strangely, forcing him to continue. "At the time, Serg.....He wasn't the worst, just the point. If Ezar had only killed (And it was getting easier to say that) Serg, Vorrutyer and Grishnov and the rest would have still been there, ready to slide into any government that catered to them, ready to tear down anyone who threatened them. Da never would have gotten the Regency off of the ground." Miles was silent as the rest of that thought came to its' logical conclusion-Vidal Vordarian and his Pretendership, with Vorrutyer and Grishnov, the political officers, at his back. Would the history books now tell of Emperor Vidal? Miles shuddered. 

Cordelia had been watching him as his thoughts raced across his face. Now, she turned and returned to her chair, sitting on the edge, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, chin propped in her hand. "Aral had offered to assassinate Serg himself, personally, but Ezar wouldn't allow it. He wanted the whole group gone, disbanded, broken. To give Aral a chance to give his grandson a better, stronger Barrayar, a Barrayar that could grow."

Miles nodded. But then, a realization struck him. He stared at his mother, who sat waiting, calm. One last question.....  
"Who really killed Ges Vorrutyer?"  
His mother's eyebrows winged up, but that was her only reaction. "I wondered if that would catch your attention," she murmured. She sighed again, before looking Miles in the eyes. "I want you to wait with any questions until the end, please." Miles nodded consent. The Dowager Countess looked up at the ceiling-recalling memories?-before stating, "Ges Vorrutyer was meant to die either at or after Escobar. He was intended by Ezar and Negri to be the scapegoat for Serg's death and the failed invasion. He died before. Sergeant Bothari cut his throat."

Miles' shocked mind upgraded that old-fashioned gun to a plasma arc as he contemplated this. It was several moments before he could choke out "...Bothari? Sergeant Bothari killed Vorrutyer?" Cordelia nodded, something unreadable in her eyes. "Bothari was....a servant, in a way, of Vorrutyer and Serg. He was used by them as a torturer, rapist, ultimately an additional victim." Miles, who knew intimately of his former guardian's psychosis, only nodded. His mother continued, "But Bothari was loyal to your father, probably because he was loyal to Bothari. I had been captured by Vorrutyer, who liked to play with his female captives. Originally, he had planned to use a knife on me, to start the torture. I didn't give him what he wanted, I refused to give him what he craved, even though I was utterly terrified," and here, something like pride shown in her eyes, a remembrance of victory over an old foe. "By this time, I had been stripped, chained spread-eagle to a bed, when he called Bothari in." 

Miles suddenly felt sicker than he had before, perhaps in his life. He wondered if this had been how Elena had felt, when she had learned of her father's activities, of the manner of her arrival in the universe.... "Did he," Miles faltered, swallowed bile, tried again hoarsely, "did he...do-"  
"Oh God, no, Miles, no!" his mother rushed to assure him, literally standing and walking over to him, bending down to grasp him by the shoulders, looking straight into his eyes as if to convey the message to his very soul. "Bothari never touched me, he saved me from Vorrutyer and his attentions."

Miles could only hear the ring of truth-Desperate, pleading truth-in his mother's voice, so he merely nodded.  
Speaking rapidly, as if speed could sear the words into reality, his mother said, "Bothari knew who I was, that I had been a captive of your father. Vorrutyer was obsessed with your father, obsessed with owning and punishing him, and he knew that your father was in love with me. He had intended to have Bothari rape me at first, until Bothari refused to do it. But when Vorrutyer learned who I was, and then he planned to do it himself. He stripped-" and now Miles could see that she was reliving in her mind's eye as she spoke-"and crawled on top of me."

Miles couldn't breathe, seeing this scene play out in his own mind.

"He was prepared to do it, but Bothari cut his throat, efficient, a single motion, with a jeweled knife. It was perhaps the single most heroic thing I've ever seen." Cordelia said these words with all the care and conviction of a prophet revealing the testament from their god. "He threw off whatever conditioning Ges and Serg had forced into him, and did the right and honorable thing. It was part of the reason that I trusted Bothari afterwords, that I considered him a hero," and here her eyes softened, "and that I gave him the most precious part of my heart to watch over and defend."  
Miles was dizzy from the revelations. He had known-For a fact!-that Bothari had been paranoid, a sociopath, a rapist. He had known-For a fact!-Bothari had been his defender, surrogate uncle and faithful servant. But to hear that he had been both from his mother's mouth, his mother who considered a madman a hero and whom a madman had therefore given faithful service as a dog would its' master....

"Miles?" his mother asked, peering in at him. "Are you alright?"  
Miles nearly bit his tongue in half, for if he had spoke at that moment, he wasn't sure if he would have sobbed or cackled, and either way he wouldn't have stopped for a long time. After he was relatively sure of his composure, he said roughly, "I'll take that water now, please." "Of course," his mother said, departing in a swirl of skirts. Going to get it herself, which gave Miles time to think. 

God. Secret upon secret, piled on top of each other. Where to start first?

_Logically, practically, from the beginning,_ his mind whispered, old ImpSec training rising to the front. 

It suddenly all made sense, why his mother had waved aside all of his inquiries over the years of who had truly killed Ges Vorrutyer. She was protecting an innocent-enough man. _Reputation_ , some part of his mind whispered, playing into her legend, as the woman who had gone on a shopping trip to the capitol and come back with the Pretender's head in a bag. Bothari killed Vorrutyer and saved my mother's life, and her dignity. Bothari had stood for Miles all of his life, had given his life in service to Miles himself, and the only reward he asked for was to be laid at the feet of the only people who had treated him with respect. _Oh Sergeant,_ Miles thought to himself, _I don't know if that was a golden enough reward to have given you, for all that you have done._

And Serg....Where to begin? Escobar-no. Further. Ezar. Ezar is nearly assassinated, twice, by Serg, his only son and heir. He can't let Serg live and take the throne, it would rip the Empire to shreds. Might as well let the Cetagandans blast us all to plasma then and there. Serg therefore has to die. Fact.  
How to kill him? Secretly, well-done, yet paradoxically in a manner that is public, definite, and unescapable, a method that can be manipulated into transforming his death into something useful. A planetary invasion against a superior foe that has almost no chance of success and can also be used to eliminate a dangerous political foe, perfect.  
Who to do it? Negri, the Emperor's Familiar, to arrange it all. 5000 bodies plus as cover, a mask to hide the true enormity of this action.  
And Aral Vorkosigan, son of Ezar's strongest supporter, a boy who had at thirteen taken the first cut from an Emperor, a man who serves, who can make the best of a horrible situation, to goad and edge the target into the crosshairs. To pull the trigger. Aral ( _Father_ ) dealt with Serg-Got rid of, removed, eliminated, assassinated, **killed**. Done for the good of the Empire. Fact.  
Next?  
Gregor, young, lonely Gregor, heir to the Empire, with an Emperor soon dead, unable to protect or defend him, a mother without great armies to call. Solution? Name Aral as Regent-Honorable Aral who will suggest a dozen people for the job before himself, who would rather gut himself than sit the camp stool unless there was no one else, Aral who will give his life for his young Emperor, and, more importantly, who will give up  power to said Emperor. Who does all of these things, and whose name is held up as both the colossus of his age and the golden standard of service to his Imperium, not least of all to his eldest, crippled son.  
Results? Success, across the board. Perfect plot, check and mate. It would be textbook, if the book, typesetter, ink and writer wouldn't have all had to have been set on fire first. 

Miles became aware of his mother sweeping back into the room, handing him a glass of ice water, which he set to immediately draining. When he was done, his mother was sitting in her chair, looking at him with concern. "Are you all right Miles?"  
Miles could only nod, before stating raspily, "Sorry. It was kind of a psychic shock."

Cordelia nodded slowly. "Do you understand why this secret was never told, or written down? The consequences...."

Miles shivered. Thinking aloud, he said, "If this got out.....It would blow everything to flinders. The Escobarans......Good God, the Escobarans already don't like us. If it got out that they had been used like this, it could mean war, and the Betans would probably be right alongside them. The Cetagandans would just wait and pick up the pieces, if they didn't move to push whoever else into attacking us, and making moves on the Hegen Hub."  
"Father's reputation would be ruined. Komarr would point to it as the Butcher's work continuing, and we would be looking at another Revolt. Sergyar would likely revolt themselves, if their beloved Viceroy was revealed as an assassin and their namesake a monster and traitor. And all of the good work he had done on Barrayar would be forever tarnished. There would probably be a revolt here as well, both in the Council of Counts and among the proles." 

"And Gregor....This would destroy Gregor. Knowing that his father was a monster was one thing. Knowing that his grandfather had conspired with his foster father and Regent to kill his father and cover it up in the most monstrous crime? That would put a hole in his soul."

Cordelia had sat silently throughout this recitation, eyes intent upon her son. When it was clear that he had finished, she contemplated for a moment, before stating, "Of the two people who know the whole story of Escobar, both of them are sitting in this room right now. What are you going to do with this, Miles?" 

Miles took a moment to reply. "Nothing. Revealing this would do no one any good. Besides.....These secrets are the past, and they would only do the future ill. Let them stay buried."

Cordelia nodded, satisfied. And then, so delicately, she asked, "And....What about Sergeant Bothari and your father? Your opinion of them?"

Miles sat there for a moment, his brain absorbing every last detail, and wringing them into a new picture of Ezar, of Serg, of Bothari....of his father. His father, Aral Vorkosigan, a man who had fought for a stronger Barrayar, for rule of law, fought to put a sane, stable Emperor on the throne. Aral Vorkosigan, who had taught him that Vor meant warrior and service to the Empire. But did that extend to assasination? Even an assassination ordered by the Emperor, an assassination, however justified, an assassination, however necessary?  
"Bothari," Miles started slowly, "was my first protector, my teacher in many ways, and he died in my service. Despite whatever else he had done, for that, and for the services he gave to you, he was a hero." He flicked his eyes to his mother, who waited, serene. "Father....." Miles paused, swallowed, tried again. It felt too much like he was passing judgement on his own father, but it had to be said. "As far as I can tell, he did.....exactly the right thing. Maybe the only thing. All the way."  
Cordelia nodded, an old pain in her eyes. "But it cost him, Miles. I know it did. But I also know that everything he did, he did for a stronger Barrayar, for you, and Gregor, and for Elena and Ivan. For Mark as well, even he came later and we didn't know about him."

Miles could only nod. Cordelia shook her head, sounding defeated. "This was part of why I didn't want to tell you, Miles, aside from it being the highest of secrets, why I wanted you to be careful about going through his files. I didn't want you to look at your father any different than you do." Miles was struck by this. "What do you mean?" His mother....seemed very careful about what she would say next. "Your father, what he did at Escobar, what happened with his political officer at Solstice, both as necessary as they were....It affected him. The number of times we had a conversation of how you would inherit his legacy, for both good and bad-" Cordelia sat back, flicking her hands into the air. "He drove himself to distraction at times. No parent wants their children to think badly of them, but Aral especially was concerned about what he might be passing on, through his reputation." 

Miles sat for a moment, stunned. He had always wanted to live to up to, and eventually surpass his father in reputation. But to know that his father had worried about the legend he was passing on...  
Miles was neither deaf nor stupid, despite what some of the Vorbarr Sultana set thought. He knew the reputation his father had earned in certain circles, had some of that confirmed by the man himself. Hell, Miles could probably put quote some of the nastier rumors verbatim if it came to it.  
But not a damn thing of it mattered.

"Father," Miles said, drawing out the word, staring at the wall "is and always will be the man I look up to the most. He-I once told him, it was just after the Dendarii were first formed, when Vordrozda had pulled the needler in the Council of Counts. I said that I wanted to make my life an offering to lay at his feet. He got the most choked look on his face, and he said, 'Clay, boy. Only clay. Not fit to receive so golden a sacrifice.'" Miles glanced up to see his mother's eyes sheen over, and she covered her mouth for a moment, looking down. There was a moment of utter silence in the room, unbroken, until the his mother looked up again, and gave a watery smile. "You sounded like him for a moment there." Miles gave a wavering grin in reply, before saying, "Does this information change anything about my feelings toward him? No. Aral Vorkosigan will now and always be my father, and the standard to which I judge my life. Nothing will ever change my feelings of love and respect toward him."

Actual tears flowed from his mother's eyes, and before Miles could leap to find a handkerchief, she pulled one from an inner pocket of her bolero, carefully wiping at her eyes. "Oh Miles," she said fondly. "Your father....He had such pride in you. Not just your successes, though he was proud of those, probably more than you were sometimes. But of your very life, that you lived, richly and fully, everyday."  
Miles felt water spring to his own eyes, and squeezed them tight, bowing his head. "In a way," he said in a small voice, "that's all I ever wanted. And," he hesitated for a moment, "I wanted....this will sound selfish, but I wanted, if only once, for him to be introduced as 'Miles Vorkosigan's father', rather than the other way around."  
Miles was stunned to hear his mother burst out into laughter. "Oh Miles," she gasped when she could talk again, "that actually happened one time!" "It did?" Miles gasped. His mother nodded, the occasional giggle escaping. "Your father was giving a speech to the Academy, about a year ago, and he opened the floor for questions. One of the cadets, first thing, lifts his hand, and Aral pointed to him, all Admiral and Imperial, and the cadet says, 'Sir, you're Lord Auditor Vorkosigan's father, right?'" Miles sat silent, stunned, while his mother indulged in a fit of the giggles. "Who was the student?" "I knew that would be the first question you'd ask, so I'm not going to tell you." "Oh come on!" Miles wailed. "Will you at least tell me what he thought about me?"

"Apparently the young man was complimentary," his mother reported dryly, a grin stretching her face. "Aral was at first a bit miffed, and then quite amused."  
"Hmpf," Miles grunted, slapping the arm of his chair lightly as he slouched back.  
"And after he got over those emotions, he was extremely, exceedingly pleased," Cordelia finished softly. She smiled at Miles, rising and crossing to place her hand on his shoulder. "It is a day that every parent looks forward to, when they are surpassed by their children, Miles, and so that their children in turn may surpass them. It's the way of the universe."

Miles looked up at his mother, who gave a shoulder a gentle squeeze. He smiled, grateful, and placed his hand on top of hers. They stood there for a moment, until the comconsole chimed.  
"I have to get that," his mother said, crossing to the screen, which revealed Pym's face. "Hello Pym," she nodded to the Armsman Commander. "Hello m'lady Cordelia," Pym replied, bowing his head. "Lady Alys would like to speak to you, and I told her to wait until you were done. Should I ask her to call back?"  
Cordelia glanced over at Miles, who raised his hands and shook his head, rising to grasp his cane. "No thank you Pym, you can send Alys's call up here." As Pym nodded and the screen went blue, Cordelia glanced over to where Miles stood by the door.  
"Hey kiddo," Miles turned back, to where his mother stood with concern in her eyes and a smile. "Are you going to be alright?"

Miles glanced down, and tapped his cane lightly on the ground a few times, before looking back up to his mother. "I think that I am," he said with a smile. The Dowager Countess returned his smile and nodded sharply, before turning to the comconsole screen, where her face lit up. "Alys, you look fantastic! You and Simon must be having really good sex-"

Miles, catching this last line as the door swung closed behind, snorted and shook his head in exasperation. He was convinced that his mother did that sometimes just to exasperate Aunt Alys, and that sometimes Aunt Alys let her.  
Miles limped to the lift tube, which would carry him down to the library. He had a few calls to make and then...

Then, he was going to round up an Armsman, and take a lightflyer down to Hassadar. He had expected to join Ekaterin tomorrow, but he thought that he would surprise her tonight. Ekaterin was in the District with Taura and Lizzie, accompanied by Martya and Enrique and their growing brood, and with Alex staying over at the Residence and Helen ensconced at the Professor and Professora's house, there wasn't much of a need for him to be at Vorkosigan House. He would surprise Ekaterin, have dinner with her, spend the evening playing with the girls, and do his best to romance his wife after they had put their children to bed. 

And then tomorrow, he would fly to Vorkosigan Surleau, where the family plot rested, and spend a good, long while, chatting with his father and Sergeant Bothari. He would burn an offering, and he would thank them for all that they had done for him, for Barrayar. And then he would continue their work, for his children.

**Author's Note:**

> This went un beta'ed (There's a Beta Colony joke in there somewhere, I just can't find it), so any mistakes are my own, and if you find them let me know. 
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated!


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